


Killing Time.

by helsinkibaby



Series: Stolen Moments [9]
Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:37:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post ep for "The Stackhouse Filibuster". Who was Leo emailing during the filibuster? Ninth in the "Stolen Moments" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killing Time.

From: lmcgarry@whitehouse.gov

To: ainsleyhayes@aol.com

Subject: Have a nice weekend

Well, it's nice to see that some people managed to keep their weekend plans intact.

So, I'm in the office, looking forward to sealing the deal on the Family Wellness Act, looking forward to spending a nice weekend, more or less out of the office, having a Friday night dinner with my daughter. And at midday, we're all gathered for the vote. Five minutes later, Howard Stackhouse stands up. Now, we've heard that he's not happy. Josh has had a meeting with him. But we didn't for a moment expect him to stage a filibuster.

So CJ's holding us all hostage, press room included, and she's not going to let us out until he finishes. Which doesn't look like happening any time soon. And I, looking to kill time in a manner which does not involve reading reports, decided that I would take a walk down to the Steam Pipe Trunk Distribution Venue. Only to find that said venue was deserted.

So I can only imagine that you're on your way to your sister's house as you planned, and that lawyers are not needed at a time when we are seeing democracy in action. Nice to know how things stand.

Enjoy your weekend,

Leo

>**

I finish the email and send it with a sigh, before considering that it might not have been the brightest idea in the world to send that from my work computer. I read it over again and realise that there's nothing remotely incriminating in the email, nothing that could give a clue that Ainsley and I are more than friends.

Which is fine. Because we're not. More than friends I mean.

We could be heading in that direction.

But that's not the same thing.

Although I doubt that the tabloids would see it that way.

Which is, of course, the crux of the problem. How things would look. Not how things actually are. I know that Ainsley isn't some ditzy blonde who got her job here by less than moral means. And I know that she's bright and articulate and intelligent and beautiful. And young enough to be my daughter.

So why do I feel something for her? And I can try to kid myself all I want, I can deny it to myself as much as I want, but what I feel for her isn't just friendship.

My computer chimes, telling me that I have new mail, and I feel myself smiling as I see who it's from.

>**

From: ainsleyhayes@aol.com

To: leomcgarry@whitehouse.gov

Re: Have a nice weekend

Leo,

Sorry to hear about your hostage situation, both in the West Wing and in the Senate. I'm sure that lawyers are indeed needed at the moment, but Mr Tribbey let me leave early today so that I could get an afternoon flight to my sister's. Stackhouse was working his way through the cookbook and all that talk of food was making me hungry. I think the rest of the office threatened to revolt because I was sneaking food from everyone.

Maybe you should check with the President about the location of the secret tunnel out of the White House.

Ainsley.

>**

I chuckle as I finish reading, almost able to imagine her sitting across from me, telling me that story. Her appetite is legendary among the White House staff, even among those who don't know her, and I've certainly teased her about it in the past. Even at our regular haunt, the coffeehouse, she used to take forever to make up her mind about which dessert she'd have, before finally settling on the chocolate fudge cake, with cream and fudge sauce. Pretty soon, I pointed out to her that she never had anything else, and she just smiled at me with this guilty little smile, closed the menu, and ordered the same thing. Soon our regular waitress - and I can hardly believe that we have a regular waitress - knew what she was going to order. And she'd order it, and she'd enjoy it, and she'd never share. Ever.

Not until a couple of weeks ago.

That was the night that I walked her back to her car, the night that I almost kissed her. The night that I just hugged her instead.

I don't know why I didn't kiss her.

Apart from all the reasons that I thought of earlier on.

But there was something in her face, something that I've seen there before. Something that makes me think that if I had kissed her, she wouldn't have run away screaming.

I don't know if that makes me happy or scares me.

Either way, I owe her a reply.

>**

From: lmcgarry@whitehouse.gov

To: ainsleyhayes@aol.com

Re: Re: Have a nice weekend

Thanks for the vote of concern. I'm sure it's very easy to be solicitous from wherever the hell you are right now that is nowhere near here. Just remember your chopstick etiquette when eating out and you'll be fine.

And as for the secret passage, I'm sure CJ has guards on it already.

Although it should come as a relief to you to know that we've moved on from culinary wisdom to "David Copperfield."

>**

There really is something comforting about the fact that even when she's not here, I can still kill a little time by talking to her, and enjoy myself doing it. I didn't realise how much I'd come to enjoy our little conversations, how much I've looked forward to them, until I went down those stairs tonight to find the place deserted. It's nice to know that there's someone I can go to who doesn't seem to see me as just the Chief of Staff, someone who's not afraid to speak their mind to me, someone who doesn't see me as their boss first and their friend after.

It's nice, and more than a little scary. Because of how much those conversations have come to mean to me.

I just realised when I was composing that mail how little I know about her. I know that she grew up in Raleigh, that her mom died when she was a kid. That she has a sister and nieces and nephews (I'm not sure how many of which) and a brother-in-law who can get over-familiar after one too many drinks. I know that she has an appetite that is nothing short of amazing. I know that she's a hell of a lawyer, that she clerked for Dreifort (and Tribbey was right on that by the way, the man is an idiot) and that she is capable of writing scathing op-ed pieces. And that she made mincemeat of Sam on Capitol Beat.

Would it be wrong of me to admit that I have that on video?

Purely to watch Sam being put on the back foot of course.

But that's it. I could find out all about her. I mean, I did once read her FBI file. But I didn't have reason to really commit it to memory then. I read a lot of reports, I can't be expected to remember then all.

I sure wish I could remember more from that one.

There are so many things that I want to find out. What books she likes to read. What films she likes to watch. What's her favourite football team? Does she even like football? What does she do when she's not here? What makes her laugh, what makes her cry?

That kind of thing.

There's another chime from my computer.

Well, well, well.

From the subject line it looks like I'm going to get the answer to one of my questions.

>**

From: ainsleyhayes@aol.com

To: leomcgarry@whitehouse.gov

Subject: Dickens?

Hmm….

He couldn't have gone back to the cookbook, could he? Can't say as I'm sorry to be missing that - I've never been overly fond of Dickens. Except "A Christmas Carol." Daddy used to read that to us coming up to Christmas, and Gramma would be the one to sit up with us after we woke up screaming in the night because we were afraid of the ghosts. Don't laugh. Daddy's a good speaker.

For your information, I'm currently in Charleston. And yes, that's Charleston, South Carolina. My sister defected to the other side, and we've never quite forgiven her. Although Daddy did say in his wedding speech that it could've been worse, that she could have picked a Democrat.

>**

Well.

That's a zinger to end on.

I wonder for a moment if how I feel now is how she felt the evening of the leadership breakfast. If it is, I feel like an even bigger horse's ass than I did at the time.

The thing is, aside from that time, we've never fallen out over politics. We've never even discussed politics, feeling, I think, that it's a subject that we'd better stay away from. Besides, when I'm with Ainsley, I'd rather forget about work as much as I can. In fact, I hardly even think about work when I'm with her, and that's something that I haven't been able to say in years. Even with Jenny, my mind would always drift back to the White House. But with Ainsley, I could talk to her forever without dipping into politics. And I can honestly say that I don't even think about her being a Republican.

And judging from the last line of that email, she's obviously forgotten that I'm a Democrat.

Before I have time to think about how that makes me feel, my computer chimes.

>**

From: ainsleyhayes@aol.com

To: leomcgarry@whitehouse.gov

Subject: about that last mail…

Can we just put the last line down to the fact that I've just spent the last couple of hours being teased by my sister and brother-in-law about working in a Democratic White House, not to mention that my niece and nephews have been fighting over who gets to show off to their favourite aunt first, that I'm tired and hungry and my head hurts and that I typed and pressed send without thinking?

I should work on that I know.

Anyway, please excuse what I wrote and know that it was not my intention to insult you. I would never do that.

>**

I feel myself let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding and without thinking, I press reply.

>**

From: leomcgarry@whitehouse.gov

To: ainsleyhayes@aol.com

Subject: Apology accepted

And I knew that. Let's just call us even for the leadership breakfast and forget about it.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend.

>**

Crisis averted I think, and at least this time it wasn't me who put my foot in it. Which is something new for me. If I know her, she's probably going to be mortally embarrassed about what she just said, but she's going to do her best to put it behind us, and pretend that it never happened. And that's fine with me. Because I don't care about partisanship, I don't care about politics when I'm with her. I care about her.

I care about her.

I think for a moment that bells are ringing with that revelation, until I realise that it's the new mail chime on my computer.

>**

From: ainsleyhayes@aol.com

To: leomcgarry@whitehouse.gov

Subject: Done!

You've got yourself a deal. Good luck with your weekend - should you have one!

>**

I smile to myself as I turn around to my desk and start to read my reports, the world restored to its proper order once more. There are no more chimes from my computer, no more interruptions until the President appears at my door and invites me to have dinner with him. Pierre Boileau is in the White House, and I make a mental note to email the details to Ainsley when I get back to my office. She'll want to hear all about it.


End file.
